“. . . My lady,” Dubhal intoned. Sean could hear the respect for their captain in his voice.
“Master Dubhal,” Grania returned. She turned her attention to Sean. “I’m sorry, Sean, Maureen was not on either ship. Both had been abandoned by the time we reached them, anyway – all vital crew had been evacuated and Maureen wasn’t among the survivors . . .”
D: Why are they calling me that?
D: Dubhal. It’s not my name.
A: It’s an assumed name. You’re a time-traveler; blending in is important. I felt Dubhal was better suited for the 16th century than Dubh an Suile.
A: And it means something close to “dark stranger. “ I thought, what with the lurking, and the general weirdness that is you, that it fit.
D: You are ridiculous.
A: Thank you.
D: Wait! Wait, wait . . . what are they going to call me in Part 2?
A: Commander Declan.
D: . . .
A: Blending in, D, you’re blending in.
D: You are still ridiculous.
A: Cheers, D.
. . . Sean realized that Grania’s news only confirmed what he knew in his gut. “They took her with them,” he said, his voice low.
“Aye, that may be; she wasn’t among the dead, either.” Grania paused, and Sean could see she was trying to form her words as carefully as possible. “But we don’t know why; they may have misused her, or they—“
“By taking her, they’ve misused her,” Sean said hotly. He felt Dubhal’s restraining hand on his shoulder, forcing him back and Sean realized that he was nearly on his feet, his hands balled into fists . . .